Beyond Infinite
by BroJoe17
Summary: He had done what he had to do. "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt..." They said. Then, he had to do something he refused to do. He had to take the baptism. But this time, she was there and she helped him do the deed. In the end, he took his own life just to save another. But, his story didn't stop at that moment. Now, he had the chance to start things over. To begin anew...
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Hello everyone and welcome to Beyond Infinite. This is my first story and I'm quite new to this so let's just take it easy, yea? My grammar's not great and I'm not good with words, but fortunately I have a pretty good imagination so, please bare with me. This is a work-in-progress so I may add some bits and pieces in here and there. Another note is that, this might be the only part that has a very long read. So yeah, bare with me. But, please do enjoy the whole thing though... Please..._

\- Prologue

He remembered. He remembered everything...

He remembered only bits and pieces of things that had happened, or at least what he thought had happened. Although there was something that he knew for sure, was that of his death.

Before that, he remembered a familiar place. A place he knew so well. A place he thought that could wipe away all the horrid things he'd done. A place that could cleanse his sins and make himself a new man. A clean slate.

He remembered a flowing river under the bright and shining sun. A place where those who seek repentance and salvation would gather about and accept baptism from the preacher. Unfortunately for him, he didn't believe any of that. He couldn't believe that a dunk in the river could save a soul such as he.

Of course, he wanted to forget everything that he had done on that battle. His military career had scarred him for life, tainted his soul by the blood that he spilled on those days. The atrocities that he committed couldn't have immediately be cleansed when he received the baptism. He wanted to repent, but he couldn't have chosen that baptism. It made his stomach stir.

But this time, it was different. This time he knew that it must be done...

At that river, he was guided by someone. A girl that he didn't know anything about, or maybe someone that he once knew. Within the obscured memory, she insisted that he needed to take the baptism. Not only to cleanse him of himself, but to also cleanse every single probability that would take place in the future.

Between the bleary moment, he somehow understood what it meant and what he must do. So, with all his strength and courage, he followed along her. He didn't refuse nor did he fight against it. Instead, he accepted, with everything he had left, the choice that he must follow.

Choice might not fit within the narrative. Rather, it was fate or even destiny. But such things doesn't exist... Does it not?

When the girl dunked him in the river, he tried not to struggle. He kept himself under the water, suffocating himself as the girl aided him with his efforts. He could have fought and won. He could've argued on what must be done.

But deep down, he knew that this must happen. He knew he must take the baptism, not to save himself. But to save a girl.

A familiar girl he barely knew, but yet he remembered. A girl that was locked away in a tower for all her life. A girl that was innocent, kind and somewhat naïve. A girl who had no friends but a songbird. A girl that had save his life countless of times. A girl that was his daughter.

He put his hands on her wrist, adding force for her sake. Both of them must do the deed, but she was the one who must act. She was the only living being who could actually save herself. She was the most important part of the play.

While she did this, something popped up in his mind. Something that he had never felt before for a long, long time. A feeling that he desperately wanted to have. A sense of relief, content and a tinge of happiness.

Before his mind went dark and his body faltered, he could see her blurry face from under the water. He felt serenity, peace and within the last few seconds, he felt himself smile. His hands lost its strength to guide her and so, he embraced death who waited for him with his large scythe and aging skull.

And she was left all alone on that river.

But that wasn't the end of an individual such as he. He thought everything was finished. He thought everything he had done had bear fruit but he was dead wrong. Rather than death consuming all that was him, memories from his life came up in his vision.

His life, literally, flashed before his eyes. All the things experienced, all the things that he felt, all the things that he did came up right at him. An old memory appeared in his visage and it conflicted him. This memory brought him guilt, a feeling he knew so well about. He had no choice but to relive that regretful scene once more and so he went.

From darkness came light. The incoming light was so bright, his vision closed due to the non-existent pain from his eyes. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He didn't make a single move nor did he open his eyes. He only wanted to feel the sun's flaming warmth. After the tiring event he had been through, the sun brought him solace among the midst of things. He opened his eyes and saw what was left in his wake.

In front of him was a vision of an open pasture, covered in snow and stretched for miles and miles on end. Although the sight itself was beautiful, it was tainted by red blood. Countless of bodies riddled randomly throughout the region, giving a dark shade of red from the pure white color. A battle had befell this once serene place.

His brothers-in-arms, the 7th Cavalry, dug holes to bury the dead in one large pile. He didn't know if it was for his fallen brothers or for his slain Indian brethren. They were all busy doing what they do. Cheering, mourning, carrying their orders and whatnot. But he, he didn't partake on their activities. He wanted to be away, just for awhile. Left with his own thoughts and guilt to bear.

He was kneeling on the ground and thought of the things he had done. He fought people who were one of his own. He fought brave warriors who stood up only to defend their own. But the thing that truly weighted his guilt, was burning innocent women and children who were trapped in the crossfire and was held up inside their tents. He had innocent blood on his hands and truly he was conflicted inside. He didn't know whether to mourn for his fellow soldiers that he knew of or the people that he had committed massacre towards.

This victory that his cavalry rejoiced for, it took a serious toll on him. They didn't know what he was going through. The guilt that weighted him. He looked upon his quivering hands and saw the dried blood that covered it. His uniform was also tattered in the same liquid matter. He didn't know if he was quivering because of the cold or because of the waking trauma from the battle passed.

By the sleight of chance, someone took notice of him. A higher ranking officer whose actions had led him up to this god forsaken place. He took pity on the kneeling man. He wondered, _What is going on that man's head?_ The former trainees were timid and often their choices were clumsy. But this one, this young man, he knew a lot about him. He also knew what he must be going through right now. Although this officer felt pride for the division that he led and all the deeds every single one of his cavalrymen had done, none would pale for the young man he was looking at.

"White Injun" they called him. An admirable feat that had got him for such titles, but at what cost? Sulking all on his own was not the action of a soldier who celebrate after a laborious battle. This one clearly wasn't cut off from the same cloth. So, he went down towards, him standing at first to admire the view. After awhile he sat down beside him sighing after a day's work.

"What a view, huh?" He started, unsure of what he was going to say. But that was good start. He didn't answer, just kept on brooding as he stared straight forward.

"When I went to my first battle, I was this scared and terrified young man. I didn't know what to do and the sounds of rifle shots made my ear deafen. All that blood and chaos on the field. Man against man, struggling for their lives. Taking a life... It made my stomach turn into a knot." The officer opened up.

"Seeing things now, though. It doesn't disturb anymore..." He sighed as he overlooked the field.

"I've been through a number of battles and every time one was finished, the horrors that used to make you want to throw up didn't startle you anymore. Your mind had been set so that you can handle the shit you're likely to see. Your senses begin to numb as you more of those things and you get better hiding what you initially feel."

"All the men I killed. All the lives I took. Battle after battle, it made me feel as though this is a way of living. The only way of living. We're soldiers after all, aren't we? We follow orders, hoping that what we do is for the betterment of our country. But sometimes, in only mere moments, you'd realize, why am I here? Are the things I do worth it? Is it making our lives better? In the early years, I questioned myself. But as time passes and I grow into the man I am right now, I know one thing. What we do is not for ourselves, but for the people back home. We're fighting off what they fear. We're fighting off what they're terrified off. We're fighting off for them. Because of that, we have to keep going, even if it doesn't feel right to us.

"What I mean, Corporal, is that you need to bury those thoughts of yours deep down. Don't make it trouble your mind. You'll still feel it, you'll still think about it, but make sure you don't show it. Not to me, not to the people back home and especially not to the men down there." The officer pointed his index finger towards the crowding soldiers. They were celebrating a hard-won victory. Their hearts soared as their enemies fell to their deaths. But one did not feel the same as they do.

"You've done something that made you better than the men under my command. Better than what you see before you! You were so driven to be accepted and so that you weren't going to be accused as a traitor. What you did not only saved your own skin, but it also inspired them and reminded them of their duty. Those men down there, they look up to you! They named you "White Injun"! They think of you as one of their own!"

"Corporal, let me remind you that you are a soldier. And as your commanding CO, I'm ordering you now to get up and get the hell over there. Get along with them, celebrate the victory with your fellow men, make yourself happy, even just for a few moments. You are one of them and you belong with them. Don't let anyone else make you think otherwise. Enjoy things when you still can, Corporal..." The officer stood beside him and took his leave.

"One more thing. If that burden of yours is still going to put you down, I know a preacher by the name of Witting. He's not far from here, just a few miles if you feel like walking. Just something to put your mind at ease." He sighed for a moment before continuing, "If you ever meet him, tell him that Cornelius Slate said hello."

Cornelius Slate, one of the most admirable, honorable and highly respected men within the 7th Cavalry. He's someone you could look up to. A sort of father figure for the soldiers who enlisted. Somehow, he thought of Slate as if he was his own father. Slate himself treated those under his command like a son as well. Strict, disciplined but most of all inspiring. His words could make his soldiers fight with all they have. A real charmer.

He couldn't help but like the man. When he's serious, he'll act as though everything is important. When he's relaxed, he'll act as though he's an old friend of yours. What Slate said to him, it made him reflect on what had happened. What he did was of course terrible but there's no changing that, is there? He just have to live with it.

Following Slate's orders, he got up, wipe the dried blood from his hands on his pants and walked over to the bustling group of men. Although the guilt is still there, he just needed to put on a face. Just for a few minutes or so. With a heavy heart, he moved on and in the following days, he did what Slate said so.

The memory of the battle had finally finish. The current thoughts going through his head as his soul drifted into nothingness were still strong. He couldn't feel a thing nor could he do anything. He could only witness his life from a fixed point of view. And without a minute less, another memory came up. One that he hoped would never appear. One that would forever hidden in the back of his mind.

The next memory conjured with another bright flash of light, and once again his eyes closed. The warmth he felt was not only from the sun but from his surrounding as well. From the heat of the day, he could tell that it was Fall. It wasn't hot nor was it cool. It was a balanced temperature for the time being.

His eyes opened and his vision adjusted with the current surrounding. He was in a fairly large white room, with several number of surgical equipment on metal trays and a basin with water but slightly changed due to the flowing red substance. The room itself had large windows that gave a view of the bright blue sky giving a good amount of light to the room.

It dawned on him. He knew where he was. He knew what he was about to go through. It was one of the memory he dreaded for. Upon him was the operating table, but a long white cloth covered it. Beneath the white cloth was a body of someone he knew so well. The only person who he was fond of. The only person who loved him back. The only person who was brave enough to marry a person such as he.

His wife had passed away. The only person he cared so much for had been taken away from him. As a husband he should have grieved for his own loss, but in those moments, his mind was still adjusting to what was happening. Maternal death, the doctors said. She had died due to giving birth to their child. His child from now on.

When the doctors came and told him what had happened, all his feelings suddenly numbed. He felt again what he felt back in Wounded Knee. All he had was void in his heart. The things that he had felt had now vanished along with the soul of his wife. After such a long time, he didn't know that this strange feeling would ever come back. Everything in his life for the past few years were fine. The past year was filled with memorable moments he had cherished and would be kept safe, deep down in his heart.

How the two met was a story worth told by a drunkard.

After Wounded Knee, he met Preacher Witting in a baptism ceremony in the middle of a flowing lake. Although the weight of the guilt still weighted him, he refused to take such ceremonies because of a single thought. No mere dunk in the water could save a man such as he. Of course, he wanted to repent, but the idea of his sins to be wiped clean without any major effort was ridiculous for him.

He retired early from the military life and settled within the big city. New York was a city of opportunity and he thought he could get a new start in his life. He had little money to spend, so the only thing he could afford was a small apartment in Bowery. After settling in, he didn't know what else to do. So with the skills he had mastered from the army, why not employ in such similar occupations? He thought that being an officer of the law didn't fit with his taste, but a detective would surely do the job.

Thus in 1892, he became an employee within the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Although the entrance wasn't an easy feat, he managed to pull through it all. At first, his fellow Pinkertons didn't take a liking into him, but the cases that he handled made him a very interesting topic of convesrations. In the next few months, the work suited him. He became a very talented investigator, able to end labor strikes with questionable acts of violence. But it was those times that he met her...

He was stuck in tough case. For the first time in his short career, he was stuck. He had been retracing his steps, rereading the available files, and recounting the case for days on end. His body felt torture but his mind was so set to crack the enigma before him. The clock ticked at nine. A fresh air and some few drinks wouldn't hurt a bit, would it?

He left the Pinkerton office in search for a fancy, yet affordable, bar not far. He didn't actually intend to find a particular one, he just went to any good-looking bar with no vagrants or low-lives within the vicinity.

Without thinking any further, he went into one. It was a nice place with few people inside. Few were the average dapper-looking gentlemen while many were considered to be the working-class. He sat in one of the stool next to the counter and ordered a small glass of whisky. He needed something to cool off but he also had to make sure he didn't lose sight of the case.

As he waited for his drink to arrive, he took a good look around. The bar was set in four different sections. One, for the higher-class individuals, two, for the more livelier folks who liked to set up a musical act or two, three, for the commoners like he who would come here after a hard day's work and lastly the bar counter.

Four gentlemen with expensive-looking apparel were smoking cigarettes and talking loudly enough it was disturbing the rest of the on-goers. Seven were the common-looking folk, playing a game of cards while four played while three bet. But then his eyes caught something very interesting. There was only one person who looked out of place.

A fair-looking young woman, probably around his age, was sitting alone in a corner table, playing with what's left of her drink. He looked at her intently, not because of her looks, but her purpose of being in this place of all places within the Bowery. She looked expensive, seductive and, for the untrained mind, approachable. All her traits led him to believe that she might be a con-artist. With those looks, who wouldn't fall into her trap.

As the thoughts crossed his mind, he didn't realize that she was looking back at him. Her eyes were the purest of blues. He could gaze deeply into them, not wanting to let go. She looked curious as well, she looked intently at him with those piercing eyes. What was so special about this girl?

When his drink arrived, he turned his head toward the bartender and gave him the money. He grabbed and drank the contents of the glass in one swig. When he had finished and wiped the remains of whiskey with his hands, the girl had sat beside him. Her eyes stuck at him and he only glanced for a second before ordering another one.

"What brings a handsome man such as you to this place?" He knew that her words weren't just a mere compliment. He remained silent for the moment.

"What's your name, huh?" The woman persisted, but he wasn't going to fall for this little trick.

"The silent type, are you? I've only met few people with your attitude, but they always break every time." Her words sounded like a seductress, reeling unwise men like fishes unto a hook. As attractive as she was, he felt quite annoyed than amused and he conveyed those feelings as polite as possible.

"Look lady... What do you want from me?"

"Ah, so he speaks. For a second there, I thought you were a mute."

"Look if you're going to bother someone, go bother someone else. I don't have the time for such... pleasantries." He let out a distasteful tone to hint her protruding presence.

"Well where's the fun in that, then?" She kept on. "Let's see... You must work for the Pinkertons, am I correct?"

"And how may I ask did you know such things?" This woman was really getting on his nerves.

"My source told me such information." She chuckled, "You're a very interesting individual, you know that? Everyone's been talking about the man who worked as a, shall I say, brute enforcer for the Pinkertons as of late. As a matter of fact, they also told me that you're stuck in a tough case."

"You should know that they always say, there's always a first time for everything..." She dramatically paused, "Isn't that right, Mr. Dewitt? Or your usual name, Booker?"

This woman wasn't playing at all. This was the first time he wasn't prepared for such encounter. A woman in the middle of the night, getting a few drinks in a bar like this, then suddenly approached him because he was there? There's no such things as coincidences and this wasn't one either. He was too focus in his case to take notice of any uninvited company. Well, he was paying it now.

"Goddamn it..." He gave a big sigh, "What do you want, miss..."

"Annabelle. Annabelle Watson. But please, you can call me Anna..."

The next chapter of that story followed the two people, investigating the mysterious case involving a missing little girls in a secluded warehouse in the wharf. As interesting story was, this tale would be told on a later date. Because although those memories brought warm moments, he was in a state where even the joyous of memories would not cure his aching heart.

He was stood over the operating table, his eyes didn't flinch on the sight of blood appearing from the lower abdomen. Blood was a usual sight for him, but coming from a loved one, it was very very different.

The doctors left him to his own devices, giving him time to process all of this. He didn't know what to say or what to do. Instead of giving a few words or so on, he left the room, entirely confused. One of the nurses who partook on the operation told him to follow her so that he could check on the baby. The baby... He had almost forgotten about that. Although his wife was forever lost within the land of the dead, there was this glimmer of hope that he felt inside. A tiny little ray of hope.

The nurse escorted him to this quite small room, where there were a number of small cradles neatly placed and within each of these cradles were sleeping babies. The nurse led him to one particular cradle where the baby who was lying down squirmed.

"She was this when we had finished cleaning her..." The nurse explained. "She's alright and all. There's nothing bad with her, but we think she needed a bit of attention."

In an instinct, he went over to the cradle, gently lift the baby up and carefully hold her in his chest. He tried to shush her and make her stop squirming and after a few seconds, she was still. She gave this happy and content smile that only a parent would tear up to. And as he saw this, he did just that.

All the pent up feelings, all the emotional barrier that he had was now breaking down before his own eyes. The hidden emotions that he experienced was being let out by this little bundle of joy. His bundle of joy.

He remembered all those good times he shared with the love of his life. The only love of his life. Now, there was this responsibility that he needed to take care of. He thought all the things he had to do, but there was one thing that needed to be done first.

"Anna..." He quietly said. "You'll be Anna..."

Anna then smiled.

With her on his hand, he vowed to get things right as it should be. He promised to keep her safe, give her what she needs and make her happy all the time.

It was a promise to himself and his wife. He'll try anything to right the wrongs he had done. There's a new hope and he was holding it in his hands. It was a memory that would last forever. A happy moment for the Dewitts.

With that final thoughts, the scene faded once more to the darkness. The memories that had passed was the eventful ones and he thought that was the last of it. But then, another scene emerged. One that made him regret all his terrible deeds.

The memory unfolded in a small little alley within the Bowery. It was raining and everything was soaking wet. He had been running, following the gentleman who took his daughter away.

He regretted his decision. What was he thinking? Why was he that stupid? What made him do such things? Was it because of his debts? Whatever it was, he had to take her back. He had to...

There were two people waiting from the alley and beside them was a wall with a hole in it. Another person waited from the other side, hurrying them to get over. The gentleman argued with the lady from the other side while another man waited for them to reach an agreement while holding his little Anna.

"Hey, hey!" He said, trying to get their attention. "The deal's off, you hear me?!" The three of them didn't hear him over the pouring rain and they were going to step over through the strange hole in the wall.

The gentleman from before had already got over to the other side and the other man, much older than him, went over. Before they could get away with it, he grabbed his arm and wrestled him for Anna.

"Give me back my daughter!" He shouted at the kidnapper, trying his best to get Anna. But the older man wasn't as weak as he seemed to be. The two of them persisted at getting the baby, none of them was ready to give up.

"Shut it down!" The man ordered, "Shut it down, now!" The hole began to slowly close and as he pulled, the older man pulled harder causing Anna to be taken away.

"No. NO!" Before the hole could close properly, Anna's body did not got over wholly intact. Something was left behind at his side. Something very little.

Her pinkie finger was severed. It was what's left behind of Anna. The only thing that would identify her very existence. But she's gone. She's lost.

Finally, the brief memory then faded. The last one had a tinge of sadness and depression, causing him to feel something uneven inside. It was all his fault. All that had happened, all that happens and all that will happen was all of his fault. The man that he was then caused all of this to happen. All the sadness, all the pain, all the suffering. It was all on him.

He wanted to make those memories to fade away, but it was hard thing to do. Those memories will always follow him no matter where he went and go. All his decisions defined him as a man. The things that you did and done will follow you, even on your deathbed. These thoughts made him sink. Into waters that he hadn't known before.

But, as he sank down, there was something that he can hear. Something that made him want to live...

"Booker..?" That voice. That so familiar voice. That voice that belonged to someone who was once close to him.

"Booker..?!" There was a sense of distress coming out from her, as if one moment he was there then he was gone.

"Booker, where are you?!" She cried out. He tried to answer, but his lips were sealed shut.

"Booker, I need you!" The distress on her voice increased as she tried so hard to find him.

"Booker! Please don't leave me..!" He couldn't stand the sound of her discomfort. He tried to gather much of his strength to help her. Or at the very least reply to her.

As he continued to struggle, he was able to escape from the confines of his immobile state. He searched the source of her voice and appeared before him was a door.

"Booker!!" He ran. He more likely sprinted towards the door. Everything else meant nothing to him at that moment. The only thing that mattered was her and her alone. As he closed in to the door and made a move to barge through. He remembered...

He remembered her name... "Elizabeth!!"


	2. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Hello, everyone... Quite sorry for the long update, but I had a bit of a writer's block at the end of this chapter and in all honesty, I was a bit lazy and was thinking of something else at the time. Although that's the case, no worries because the first chapter's done and I've updated a few things to the prologue and I hope that you all enjoy what's coming next. Stay tune for future updates, even though I don't know when that will happen..._

Chapter 1: A Familiar Day

"Elizabeth..." The whisper of her name revived Booker from his deep slumber. He took a sharp intake of breath and it made him cough a few times.

"Goddammit..." He muttered under his breath.

He groaned at his current state. His head was hurting all over. The pain he felt was more excruciating than the previous headaches he had ever experienced. It was as if his entire brain was rewired from end to end. Although the feeling was very unnatural, Booker tried to shrug it off so he could take a guess to where he was.

"What the hell happened..?" A question that none but only he himself could possibly answer.

He opened his eyes and it adjusted to his current surrounding. It looked just like his old office with everything still intact. Somehow, he felt as if this was a lifetime ago and yet it felt like he just happened to wake up from a terrible nightmare. That analogy itself made him more confused.

The room looked to be a bit ware off although it had the same state when he moved in not long ago. It appeared that he slept on his swivel chair and before him lied his working table, full of liquor, betting tickets and other items. Behind him was his steel bed which reminded him of some nights when it felt like hell sleeping there. Beside the bed was his cabinet, repleted with personal things of the past which was best left untouched at the moment.

Overall, nothing looked different than he remembered it to be or knew it to be. Everything looked the way it used to be. Correction; what it supposed to be. Still he couldn't comprehend why there were some things that his mind couldn't figure out. His body and age was that of a nineteen year old and yet, he felt as if his very soul was older than the body itself. He was sure there were memories or moments that had happened in his life. But as hard as he tried to comprehend it, it turned out to be a fruitless effort. Those memories were too hard to understand, even for a man like himself.

Although that was the case, Booker knew he understood some from the dream he just had. As vivid as the dream was, he only knew some bits and pieces from what he thought belonged to his memory. Some he recognize, some he didn't. He remembered the times when he went to battle in Wounded Knee and the trauma he obtained when it had finished. Then there was the time of the baptism with that preacher. That particular memory left a bad taste on his mind, but there was something about it that made him sad as well. A familiar memory but with a different situation.

Continuing on, Booker remembered the time when he first met his wife, Annabelle. That brought a small grin to his face, but it quickly faded with the following memory. He remembered holding Anna for the first time in his hands, which brought a weak smile to his cheeks. At least one thing was good out of everything he'd experienced. He tried to push those thoughts away and began to think of the other two sequence that he dreamed of. First was the one where Anna was taken away from him. It was an awful dream, but it happened. It happened, he was sure of it. A polite gentleman will come after his daughter and he'll take her away unless he stopped him. He remembered the exact date, which was today... 8th of October 1893.

But, he need to know one thing first. Something that he needed to know after all the things he's been through. Literally and emotionally. He stood from his seat and in a careful place, walked to the door to the other room. The room he knew that belonged to her. At first he hesitated, doubted for a moment if she was there at all. What if the things that happened in his mind was only a dream? A very vivid dream?

No, he knew that what had passed did happen. Not in this world, not in this timeline, not in the perceivable future. But he was sure that it did happen. Whatever it was that did happen. And he was sure that all his deeds would bear fruit. It had to...

He grasped at the door knob, slowly turning it to be ready for what's to come. As he did, he could only blurt out one word. One name. Her name.

"Anna..?"

Before him was the crib he had bought for his baby and inside it was a small little creature, sleeping peacefully and full of serenity. Her body was wrapped with a sheet of a bright colored shade of blue, provided by the nurse from the hospital she was born. Looking at this fragile baby, Booker carefully picked her up and held her close to his chest. The sight of her ached his heart. What he had done, although vaguely remembered, succeeded. His deeds had bear fruit. He was with his daughter once more, with his Anna.

The color of the sheet she was wrapped in reminded him of the girl he knew. The girl he felt close with. His other daughter. "Elizabeth..." Her memory inside Booker's head couldn't be easily forgotten, that's for sure. Although that was the case, he couldn't remember any of the memories he had before. Only her name, what she was like and the feeling of pain she suffered.

He assumed that his mind was still being fixed after the events that had occur. Parts of it didn't stick, but that didn't stop a man such as Booker Dewitt to give up so easily. A few rests, several remedies and something to work on would give him relief from the headache that came from remembering such things.

What's more important was the bundle of joy he was holding in his hands. The daughter he lost, whose whole entire life was confined in a single tower and her powers to be abused by a sick fanatic of a prophet-

"What..." Booker's more confused. The thoughts that just crossed his mind. The non-existent memories of his other life. That wasn't about his daughter, Anna. That was about Elizabeth, her counterpart.

It seemed that they were too same a person, he couldn't not think Elizabeth while looking at Anna, and maybe it also work the other way around. If only he could prove his theory...

After enough of his mind being entangled with this whole quantum-altering business, he cleared his head. He went out from the room after awkwardly standing there for no more apparent reason and settled into his seat once more.

Once out of the room, he closely looked upon the mess that was his flat.

"God, didn't think I was this sloppy..." Booker said to himself. Then he looked back to his Anna, still sleeping cozily against his chest. Finally, he had her. After all this time, better yet after a lifetime, he got her back. The fact that he existed after everything was a surprising feat, even for himself. But, what now? He had Anna and he's back to his old apartment, so what's next?

Booker gently placed Anna on the bed to make sure he didn't fall from his hands while thinking. What should he do? What should he do to ensure their happiness? Their continued existence as father and daughter? Well, one thing that came to mind was cleaning this whole room first. All the alcohol, all his gambling tickets, everything that reminded him of the depressed man he once was. He wanted to start anew. He wanted to make sure that nothing else stand between him and her. Whatever it takes...

A few hours had passed since he cleaned his whole office/bedroom. He put Anna back into her room to avoid the possible dust that she may be exposed to. He cleaned and cleaned as if there was no tomorrow. He cleaned every part of the flat, every nook and cranny, every single corner, everything. Booker might have seen this as a cleansing. A baptism of sweat, if one could say, of his place.

He had clean everything and the result was more-so the same as before. It didn't change much of the layout of the place, but one thing he was sure of was that it was clean. No more dust, no more empty liquor bottles, no more horse race bets.

He went to the other room and picked up Anna who wasn't sleeping anymore. Strange he thought. She didn't make a noise or any kind of sound that would disrupt what he was doing. Maybe all the work he'd done woke her up not a few minutes ago. Whatever the case was, she seemed to be content at the moment. He sat down on his swivel chair and relax after all he'd done.

Booker still couldn't believe how everything had came to an end. Then, it raised one question. Will the events that had transpired before, once again reoccur? Then, will the gentleman from before come back to take his daughter away? If those were true, then all of his deeds was for nothing.

He had to do something...

He had to prepare...

He won't make the same mistake, ever again...

Even if it doesn't occur once more, he had to do something...

For his daughter...

For Anna and Elizabeth...

He placed Anna on his bed, making sure she's safe and in his field of view. For safety measures, Booker had a gun in one of his table's drawers. It was from his days in the 7th Cavalry, one of the things he was allowed to keep after the battle. It had kept saving his life countless of times, back when he was a Pinkerton and even now as a private investigator.

As a private detective, he knew well what sorts of people would come to bargain for his services. From the uptight and wealthy individuals to the shady and untrustworthy crooks. As a good detective, he always prepared for anything. That principle had saved him from trouble he didn't ask for.

The gun seemed to be in working order, there's nothing wrong in that. He wheeled from his desk to his bed, once again looking at this tiny miracle. How could everything be as it once was? Will be everything as it once was? There's only one way to find out...

Booker counted the minutes before his daughter's would-be kidnapper arrive. It was a tense moment, waiting there with a gun in hand whilst making sure his daughter was comfortable on his bed. As the time grew near to it's original occurrence, his palm and head had sweat.

He had only three bullets in the chamber. He cocked the gun and aimed it towards the door, making sure so that he won't miss his aim. He had been sweating profusely from his head to his chin, the moment too nerve-racking for even a man such as him. He didn't know what will happen. For the first time, he didn't have a sense of what was going to happen. He knew what had happened once, but this time, that information that he knew was something he couldn't rely on.

As a detective, every information that he came across had its own usefulness. It's part was crucial for solving a hard case. If an information is as accurate as it seems to be, then executing the plan would be a piece of cake. But when an information is anything but reliable, it's hard to plan your steps through and through.

Nonetheless, Booker had to do something. He was ready for anything that would or will happen. He kept on thinking the things he had thought over and over again, remembering why he had to do this.

Then all of a sudden, came a knock on the door. That wasn't quite right. He remembered that his door was attacked by a barrage of knocking and shouting, but this time... This time was different.

From the other side, someone softly knocked his door. "Who the hell could that be?" He quietly said to himself. With this event being played out, he lowered his gun and pocketed it in his pants, carefully concealing with the layers of his clothes. He then slowly pick up Anna from his bed and brought her close to his chest.

As he walked over to the door and almost turn the door knob, he, again, thought to himself. What if this was a trap? What if they're the ones who'll take Anna away from me again? What the hell should I do?

When little Anna studied her father's face, she didn't know what was going on in his head. He looked worried, but a child of her age wouldn't know such things, would they? But, deep within her infant mind, she had this urge to touch her father's face. She had to because it's the most interesting thing she had ever witnessed, at the moment anyways.

Whilst Booker still debated to open the door or not, the littlest hand he had ever felt touched his cheek. He looked down to see Anna trying to touch his face all over. She struggled so hard to rub his father's stubble, cheeks and chin, as if everything she was seeing was too important to not to be touched.

Then, she caught his eyes staring down at her. Those tired green eyes stared back at her and in return, she stared right at them as well. His gaze captivated the little one like an audience at a circus. The attraction was her father's emerald eyes and she, the audience.

Booker couldn't help but gaze at his daughter's eyes as well. Those big blue eyes reminded him of the big blue sea. There's serenity, contentment and above all, hope. Those eyes reminded him of Elizabeth's. They had the same exact eyes. If he gazed it long enough, he could see right to her-, no, their soul. Suddenly, Anna burst out in giggles. Booker didn't know what was funny, but in the eyes of an infant, anything could be funny.

Then without himself knowing, he laughed alongside her. He himself didn't know what was funny, but it was something that he needed to do right at that moment. A thought crossed his mind. A revelation to be more accurate. As long as she's smiling or laughing, he too shall smile and laugh as she does. It was a new promise he made to himself and to her. As long she's smiling, he's happy. As long she's happy, everything's going to okay.

"Thanks, kiddo..." He said to Anna as she still smiled at him.

With this newfound courage and bravery, he opened the door with little Anna on his hand and face whatever's coming at them.

When the door opened wide, Booker saw two vageuly familiar persons in his field of vision. They seemed to be twins of some sorts, and their stature was quite sophisticated for the average people of these times. Their facial expression were empty with emotion, there was only a hint of surprise in their eyes.

"Well, that took quite a long time than I expected..." The female twin said with a hint of snide.

"Goddamnit..." He muttered under his breath.


	3. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Welps. Sorry guys for posting this so late. I had college exams and, although I was super lazy, had to take some time off. Luckily I graduated high school, so that's something good. Anyways, once again, sorry for the late post. I'll try to post the next chapter in the same month. I've got lots of ideas that came up but unfortunately, it's far ahead from the current storyline. I hope all of you have the patience to wait. Anyways, hope you enjoy this new iteration..._

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces

Booker stood at his door unflinchingly. These two... He knew these two people... They were too awfully familiar to not be noticed. As he looked at the two, his mind responded with a stream of blood out of his nose and the ever-so present headache.

"Oh shit..." He cursed under his breath, the nosebleed had gotten all over his maroon ascot and shirt.

"Oh my..." The male twin noticed, "Here, this should do it." From his pocket, he conjured a handkercief.

"Much obliged, Mr..."

"Lutece... Robert Lutece." He answered, "Of course, this is my dear sister, Rosalind Lutece." He gestured to his said sister. Although the gentleman was polite, the lady was anything but.

"Right, Mr. Lutece... May I ask what is your purpose of being here?" Booker became defensive with people he knew he knew, but under certain circumstances, couldn't remember. He could sense that something wasn't quite right with these two, he just couldn't put a finger in it.

"Well, Mr. Dewitt... We are here only to-" He paused for a moment, as if finding the right answer to Booker's question.

"-Inspect the apartment that the building provided... We're trying to find a place for ourselves within the neighborhood and this place caught our eye..." The one called Rosalind said, continuing what her brother had left off.

"Well, if you're really looking for a place to live, the Bowery isn't a place for you. By the looks of you, you people should go uptown. This part of the city isn't fitted for the likes of you." From how they talk and their stature, one could say that they did not fit in a place such as this. They didn't fit in at all.

"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Dewitt... We'll be sure to remember that for future reference." Robert said, his gaze void of emotions but tiny smile was all he could give him.

"If I may, who is this..." Rosalind paused before continuing, "Little bundle of joy?" Her eyes were looking intently at his Anna.

"This is Elizab-" Both the twins left eye brow were raised at his abrupt stop of words. Booker stopped and thought for a second, before continuing his sentence, "This is Anna. Anna "Elizabeth" Dewitt." The baby smiled at the mere mention of her name, and Booker gave her a weak one as well.

"Well, what a delightful child you have, Mr. Dewitt. I do hope you'll take care of her proper..." Rosalind said to him, but her tone made it as if it was an order rather than a request.

"I'll try." His eyes hadn't left her big blue eyes eyes.

"Well then brother, I do think we should be off now." Rosalind said whilst holding her gaze unto her brother.

"Right then. It's a pleasure to be of acquaintance, Mr. Dewitt." Robert held up a hand to Booker, signalling him to shake hands.

"Well, it's nice to meet you to, Mister and Miss Lutece..." Booker took his hand and shook it gently, still carefully holding Anna with his left.

"If we are in need of your services, Mr. Dewitt... We'll be sure to contact you..." Robert said.

"Of course. I'm always open..." Booker said.

"Have a good day, Mr. Dewitt..." Rosalind said to him as she took Robert's right arm and they walked arm-in-arm.

"You have one as well, Ms. Lutece..." Booker closed the door as the two walked away to whatever their path lead them.

As the two turned a corner on the hallway towards the stairs, Booker closed and then leaned against the door before sitting down on the floor.

In the back of his mind, Booker somehow knew who those people really are. He knew they were a part of the madness he's experiencing. They held a very important in this play. They were somehow the key to answering all the things he'd been through. But, alas, his memories were not yet fully recovered. He needed to know more about what had happened to him and to the girl... To Elizabeth...

"We've been through a lot you and I..." Booker said to his daughter in his arms, "I don't even know if you'd remember anything that we've been through, or you're just Anna... and not Elizabeth."

He sighed for a moment,"There's a lot of things that we need to find out, some questions to be answered, a few mysteries to be solved, and of course, taking care of you..."

"Goddamnit, I don't know shit about taking care of you because of-" Something held up his throat as the memories of what once was came back flooding his mind, "Because of what happened..."

"It's funny you know," He chuckled at himself, "Booker Dewitt, private investigator, scared because of not knowing how to take care his daughter." There was a pause for a moment, "Damn, that sounds even worse than it did in my head..."

"I just don't know what to do, kiddo..." Booker said to her, "I was an irresponsible parent. And now, when I'm ready to be a real parent for you, I don't know the first step of doing so..." He closed his eyes as he sighed at the thought, "We're in a real mess here, kid..."

There was just a lot of things that he needed to do. Of course, finding a job would be difficult. He was fitted to be a man of violence, but the idea of him being a part of a shadowy organization wasn't that appealing to him. If he became an officer of the law, he would have trouble of following exact orders and such. His time in the military is over, and he wanted to be that kind of man who walked beside and outside the law. A job that didn't make him a degenerative low-life or a virtuous law-man. A profession that worked between those lines was a career perfect for his standards.

In other words, a private detective.

That was an interesting line of work, to say the least, but getting back on the saddle would need quite the energy. His physical age betrays his mental age. He had the mind of a 38 year-old veteran, but his body was as fit as the average 19 year-old. He would need the mental capacity to work and to take care his little Anna. He perfectly knew the hours that was spent to accomplish a case, and his tiring state after a good day's work. He would be an awful mess if she were to cry in the middle of the night, pleading for a warm bottle milk. There were too many variables that he needed to figure out.

But, as his thought process continued a small finger tapped his nose which made him open his eyes. Anna was focused on touching the curves of his nose. She looked up with her big blue eyes and smile at her father's face. This brought a smile to Booker's face.

"Yeah. You're right, kiddo." Booker said to Anna as if she just answered all of his problems. "We'll get through this. We'll get through this no matter what."

As they were happily enjoying the moment, it ended with a loud banging on the door. His body reacted violently as the banging continued and it became much louder as seconds passed.

"Mr. Dewitt! Mr. Dewitt!" The man shouted as he knocked the door.

"Who's there?" Booker replied as he quickly placed Anna on his bed and pulled out his pistol from his hostler. "Who's there!?" He said again when the man didn't answer him.

"Open this door, right now!" The man said in between knocks.

"What do you want?!" Booker said again as he readied himself for the moments to come.

"We had a deal Mr. Dewitt!"

His hands were on the door knob, ready to face what was ahead of him. Before he twisted the knob, he looked back on Anna and thought again of the things that had happen. Will he be strong enough to stop this threat, or must he give up his own daughter and lose his second chance to start things over? With this thoughts in his mind, he made his decision. Whatever happens, Anna and him has to stay together. Whatever the risk, they'll start over together. As a family...

He opened his door and quickly apprehended the man. He grabbed his arm, twist it and kick him in the knees so he'll drop down and point the gun against his head to prove his point.

"What the fuck do you want, you worthless piece of shit?" He whispered menacingly closely to his ears. "Tell me!" Booker shouted when the man didn't answer.

"What I want, Mr. Dewitt..." The man slowly said before sighing, "...is to have a drink with an old friend. Is that too hard to ask, Corporal?"

"Corporal?" Booker said under his breath.

The man set himself free from Booker's clutch by pushing himself towards Booker and bringing the two of them down to the ground. The man then knocked Booker's head with his elbow and took the gun from him. He stood up, checked the load and pointed the gun at him.

"You've done well with yourself, Dewitt. But remember Corporal, I'm more experienced than you are after all." When Booker looked back on the man, he blinked a few times then couldn't believe his very eyes.

"Slate!?" Booker was surprised, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"We made a deal, remember?" Slate handed him back his pistol, "We're gonna have a chat, like civilised men..."

A few minutes later, Slate and Booker chatted away inside his apartment for about an hour. They make up for lost time, as Slate said, with stories they had after they met in Wounded Knee. Slate had still followed his military career, although his eagerness had waned down, he still fought valiantly within the frontlines of battlefield. With the company of his soldiers, he'd fought battles as fierce as a bald eagle.

"...and that's when I chose to go by to your place and thought that we'd have a little chat between us men..." So that was the conclusion of Slate's part of the story. Although it was incredibly long and exaggerated in some parts, that was Slate's unbeaten charm.

"That's quite the story you got there, Slate..."

"Frankly Dewitt, I'd consider this as just a petty small talk. If we have another time, I'd give you a real story!" He chuckled at his own words, "Speaking of tales, what's yours, Corporal? Got any stories for your old Cornelius?"

Now ain't that swell... Booker now had to give his own life story to Slate. Yet another painful memories he had to face. Well, there's no getting out of this. Might as well get on with it, right? Or... Better to give him a short version of his story than the longer one.

"When I went back, I tried finding a job. Became a Pinkerton, worked hard then found a girl. We got together, married then-" At the slightest thought of her, Booker choked up for a second, trying to find his words. Slate's smile faded at the sight of his face. As if there was a pent-up anger or sorrow in his eyes. A few moments later, Booker found his voice back and tried finishing his story quicker, "She passed away giving birth to Anna. I quit the Pinkerton because of my erratic nature and tried to keep on living as a private detective. That's all I got..."

Seeing his current state, Slate knew what kind of deep seated emotion Booker has harbored. Although his curiousity was high, he knew better than to ask a widower details of their past. He decided to let it go by continuing what they left off.

"That is an interesting story, if I could say so myself, Dewitt. I won't go into more of the details, but I guess that's your style, Booker..." Without hinting Slate a favor by stopping him from furthering any unwanted details. Booker picked up a hint and nodded at him.

"Say, where is the little rascal?" Slate asked.

"Oh, she's in her crib..." They got up and head to her room. Inside was Anna sleeping soundly at her crib, as Booker had said. He gently carried her in his arms and carefully swayed her back and forth.

"Wow," Slate looked dumbstruck, "Now isn't that the sweetest thing I have ever seen?"

At the presence of the two, Anna woke from her slumber and yawned. She scanned her room and saw the vision of her father and another man she doesn't recognize. She smiled at her father and looked oddly at the older man. Her eyes pierced him as if she was looking deep into the man's soul.

"Well, Corporal, I think you've outdone yourself..." Slate said as he put a hand in Booker's shoulder.

"What do you mean by that?" Booker asked.

"What you're holding there is precious. You have to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even at the cost of your own life..." Slate clarified.

Booker gave a hint of smile at what Slate said. _Even at the cost of your own life... _He had no idea what happened. He had no idea at all.

"Funny thing though..." Slate added.

"What's funny?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I'm seeing things but... I feel as if I've seen those very eyes before. Somewhere... Long ago... I'm trying to remember, but I simply couldn't put my finger on it."

Booker's heart almost dropped at Slate's words. How could he have known? Could he be affected by what had happened? If so, then another question surface. Had the effects of Booker's baptism effect all the people he had known? At the very least, Slate's memories were still muddled, unlike Booker's. It might had been the connection between Booker and- well Elizabeth. After all, what bond is stronger than that of a father and daughter?

"Well, again, I apologize for my... 'aggresive' behavior back there, Slate." Booker offered him.

"Oh, that's alright, boy. At least you got the chance to humour me with your show of fisticuffs." Slate laughed at their past struggle, "Which came to this question... Why did you turn so violent all of a sudden? I wouldn't think that that's your way of hospitality for guests and potential clients alike?"

Booker thought of an answer inside his head. He couldn't blurt out about the things that just happened or the things that he had been experiencing in the past hours. Slate would surely think of him as a mad man or better yet, a soldier who had experienced trauma again. He had to make something up. A cover story for his own sake.

"I thought you were one of the shady people that I had to deal with. They've been bugging me for the past few days and I'm getting paranoid from all the trouble..." It was a good cover. With all the experience he had had from his past clients, the story about the mafia was as believable as it could be. If not, better than Booker could have ever come up with.

"Well why don't you say so... If we had the chance, I'll happily to partner up with you!" Slate got a little closet to him and whispered between the two of them, "Honestly son, I have nothing to do in my temporary leave nor do I have a place of my own. I've been thinking of renting a place for some time now, but that would be too costly by my standards. You know any place that would accept a veteran such as myself?"

In only but a second, Booker was presented with a one-time opportunity. One which he would have made him think long and hard, but due to his situation, was unable to choose any other way. Although the idea was wierd, it was something that he should make do.

"Slate, I have a proposition for you..." Booker said it slowly as he could, still thinking his spontaneous plan.

"Well, this should be interesting... What's your proposition, Corporal?" Slate's interest was peaked.

"You're trying to find a place to stay, right?"

"Hmm..."

"Coincidentally, I'm trying to find someone who would take care of Anna while I work on my cases..." Booker said and Slate was slowly picking up what he meant.

"Hahahaha..." Slate suddenly was in a fit of laughter, "That's precious, Corporal... I'd never thought you as a man of humor" Slate continued his laughter until it died down a bit.

"Slate..." Booker tried to be serious, "I'm serious here. I need someone who'll look after her while I'm gone."

Slate suddenly realised how serious Booker was, then he straightened himself up and looked as serious as Booker was.

"Jesus, Booker... You can't ask me to take care your own child. I'm not a nanny for God's sake! I'm not built for this kind of thing." Slate argued.

"Slate please... I'm asking as a friend here. Help me out and you'll have a place to stay. Rent-free!" Booker presented his points and it sounded appealing to Slate.

"Can't you hire a baby sitter?" Slate asked, as if considering what's at stake.

"I can't trust anyone here, Slate. You've heard my story, right? Please... You're the only person I can trust here and that's a lot coming from a person like me... You're like a father to me." Booker pointed, "Think about it. You'd be like a grandfather to her..."

That was very appealing to Slate. Very appealing indeed. Also, it was the first time Slate heard such words from one of his own men. Booker's words were somewhat heartwarming and with Anna, he was looking at a present he had never ever have... A family. Although he considered his cavalry as his own family, this was even more... rewarding.

"Fine!"

"What?"

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." Slate whispered to himself, "I'll accept your proposal, Dewitt... Just... I won't do any of her... droppings..."

"Thank you, Slate..." Booker sincerely thanked him.

"Yeah well, just know that you owe me, alright?"

Well... It seemed that Booker is indebted once again. The circle hadn't broken after all...


	4. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry for the long hold up. Life was in the way and I had my attention on someplace else. Finally I could give you all the next chapter, there's a lot of talking and I became emotional when I wrote some things in the middle part but all in all, pretty glad that I could wrap this chapter up, more or less. Hope you enjoy it, again sorry for the late upload and thank you for being kind and patient people..._

Chapter 3: Visions

He didn't know it, but he was likely dreaming. He was in a state where dream and reality can be muddled and he wouldn't know which was real and which was not. Such state could bring confusion or distraught, but for a handful of people, they could see the difference and know the real thing. But one particular person could manipulate such things with ease. One that he once met a long time ago.

In his vision, he was at the door to massive lighthouse, built by stone and decorated by ornaments of gold. It was a massive building in the middle of the open ocean. Sea stretched on for miles and miles with no end, without even any land in sight. Like a lone fortress stood in the middle of the ocean. A lone fortress which held a very dark secret deep beneath its confined walls. The door, built out of solid gold, was slightly opened and a ray of light shone through. Strangely, he seemed to recognize the place, as if he had been here before. But he was sure he hadn't been here, has he? With questions doubting his sane mind, he decided to go through the large door and investigate this place further. When he got through, he saw a whole new scenery.

Before him was a sight he thought he would never see again. He was back in the river, where he once refused the baptism. The sun was shining bright as it always would and the river flowed in a calm pace. In front of him was a girl who was standing alone in the river bank. She didn't looked at him. She was looking down at the river, as if there was something to look at.

He slowly approached her, careful not to startle her. She looked awfully familiar, although he'd swear he had never seen her before. But as he walked towards her, her head cocked up as if she was on alert. She turned quickly and the two of them saw each other.

They seemed to be frozen, as if both of them was seeing a ghost from each of their past. Her eyes widened while his eyes was full of confusion. Then, she started to speak...

"Booker..?" Her eyes was still red with tears. Her words came out like a whisper and still she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

He on the other hand was still coping with what he was seeing. She was the girl from his dreams. The girl who brought him pain and anguish on his mind. His daughter who never was.

"Booker... How-" She traced back on what she was going to say, "How are you even here?"

"You..." He was gathering his words and thoughts. He was finally meeting his daughter for once. The girl who haunted him from the very start. The girl whose name had been hidden deep inside of his mind. "Elizabeth..."

Out of nowhere, a sharp pain began to attack his mind. He almost tumble down the river as it was too unbearable for him. He pressed his right hand into where the pain was the strongest and steadied his body with his left hand on his knee. He felt something on his nose and when he wiped it with his hand, a sign of blood was present. Afterwards, a trickle of blood went down the river, following the stream.

He looked at her with a pained gaze, his vision was blurred with a black and white whilst she looked at him with a concerned look.

"Booker..." She reached her hand out, wanted to help him. But she wasn't quick enough to do so.

"Goddamnit..."

Booker woke up from his wheelchair whilst inhaling air into his lungs. He had this vivid feeling of drowning underwater when he dreamt. This was the umpteenth time this happened and every time it happened, there would be blood running out under his nose.

"Jesus, Booker... What the hell happened to you?!" Slate said as he was sitting at Booker's bed, his temporary resting place after agreeing he would stay at his place for the mean time.

Booker gently rubbed his head to where the pain has subsided, "Its nothing to be worried about, Slate... I've been having this for quite some time."

"You've had this once before?" Slate asked with a baffled look.

"A few times before..." He paused for a second, "Several times..."

"Good God, Booker... You need to see a physician!" Slate insisted with what Booker was experiencing at the moment.

"No! No need to do that. I'm fine, Slate..." Booker tried to stand up from his chair and walk towards his stove to get a warm cup of water. Unfortunately, his legs didn't do a good job of supporting his entire body which resulted him trembling like a drunkard. He tried his best to get a proper footing, but in the end his legs gave out and he almost collapsed to the ground. Luckily, his hands still worked and it grab hold of his table in time before he fully stumble to the floor.

"Damn, Booker. You look like you're someone having an early drink in the morning!" Slate said with a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"Look, it's alright, Slate. The headache would go away in a matter of min-" Before he could finish his own sentence, Booker finally fell on the ground as the pain of the headache was way too severe for him to endure.

"Christ! That's it! I'm going to find you a physician." Slate did his best to re-position Booker to a better posture. He made Booker lean to the base of his table and quickly sought for help outside the building.

"Wait here, Booker! I'll be looking for help, so don't move!" Slate said to Booker as he dashed out from the room and unto the streets, but Slate carelessly close the door and so it was left open in only a few inches.

Booker saw the way Slate left things and he tried his best to close it, fearing any other people might come in and took advantage of the rare situation. With the pain still on his mind, Booker began to crawl towards the door. He bared the ever-present pain in his head, but that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that he close the door and keep any potential danger away from his home and away from his Anna.

But alas, he heard footsteps out in the hallway. Booker heard it and sensed danger. The footsteps that he just heard was a too light for it to be Slate. Slate's footsteps would be much heavier and a tad bit wonkier. As best as his efforts were, Booker only managed to move a few inches towards the door. The pain in his head sharpened and he was forced to stop and just breathe for a second.

The door slowly opened, but unfortunately Booker couldn't look up and see who this perpetrator really was. Booker was, apparently, at their mercy. He was unable to do anything except endure the pain and wait for them to get it over with. They took a step forward and gazed randomly at the room and when they saw Booker in the floor, they crouched down and examine him. They then tried to get him up and tried to move him somewhere else.

"What the hell are you doing?" Booker resisted, but he didn't put up much of a fight while in the state he was in.

"It would be better for you to be quiet, Mr. Dewitt..." They, or rather she, said in a hushed tone. The woman tried her best to drag Booker toward his bed, but with her petite body, she needed to bring up an extra effort.

A moment later, Booker found himself on his bed with the woman facing away from him. The pain was still there and he could feel himself slowly succumbing to a deep sleep.

"Who are you?" Booker managed to ask.

"My identity is not of your concern, Mr. Dewitt..." The woman replied, still she faced away.

"How do you even know my name?" There was distress in his voice. The woman might have been a part of an illegitimate organization that had been tracking him down.

"I know you, Mr. Dewitt. I know everything about you. But, now you will drop that topic for your own well-being, Mr. Dewitt." His worst nightmares had finally manifested. Might this woman be the kidnapper? Will she take Anna away from him for the second time? He had to question her.

"Why are you here, exactly?" He could feel himself succumbing to a deep sleep, he had to get answers from her. He needed to know who she was.

"Is it not common for stranger to help out a man in need of help?" She tried to dodge the question, that one was clear.

"No, it is not. Not in The Bowery..." Booker answered and she was completely silent, "Have I met you before?" Booker asked due to his familiarity to her voice. Yes, he thought he had that same exact voice once before.

"No we have not..." She chuckled, "Not yet anyways." She quietly said that to herself. Booker noticed her quiet laughter. It was so familiar to him, as if he had her that exact laughter before.

Booker narrowed her eyes and began to notice her more carefully. She had a very dark brown short hair and she wore a dark blue blazer and a hint of a white corset on her with a long skirt that matched the color of her blazer. The way she dressed was different with any other women he knew at that time. Even Annabelle herself- No that memory is too painful to remember. She suddenly got up and move towards the other door. She looked intently at it, as if she was guessing what was held inside.

Booker became more distressed as the woman took interest with the door. She examined it as carefully as possible, as if trying to remember what room this was for.

"What is inside this room?" She asked, still she didn't show her face.

"None of your concern..." Booker lowered his voice to give off an intimidating tone.

Without his permission, she opened the door and walked through. Booker tried to get up and stop her but his body had weaken and he was in no shape to get up. A few moments passed and she exited the room with something on her hands.

"No, don't you dare... Don't you take her away from me!" Booker demanded, but unfortunately in his shape, he didn't have the power to do so. Instead, the woman came out, cradling the little one gently and carefully on her arms. Anna was quiet and she didn't fuss about anything. She seemed to be oddly enjoying her time with this woman. It was as if she knew the stranger by heart. How could she, a stranger, calm little Anna. Whenever she was with Slate, Anna would bring a maelstrom of cries. The only thing that would keep her down was Booker holding her close to his chest.

As Anna was being held by this peculiar woman, she made no sound, not even the littlest one, and was enjoying the presence of the her holder. Anna smiled and gave a little laugh and the woman seemed to smile back. She then began to hum a familiar song. A melody to please Anna's heart. A song Booker had heard from a long time ago. Oddly enough, aside of this woman comforting his own daughter, Booker swore that particular song that just he heard had not yet been made until somewhat a few years later.

"She's so precious..." The woman walked over to the table and sat on Booker's chair finally facing his way, unfortunately the window didn't gave too much light due to the rolling clouds. "What's her name?" She asked her eyes still fixed to the baby.

"Anna..." Booker said, "Her name's Anna Elizabeth Dewitt..."

"Anna Elizabeth?" Something held in her throat when she said her name, similar to a person who was holding back tears. "That's-" She needed a moment to recover herself, "That's a very beautiful name..."

The clouds passed by and light finally came through so that Booker could see and identify the intruder. After a good look at her, Booker realized who she was. Who she really is...

Then another pain was triggered in his head. He winced in pain as tried to bare it, but his body was weakening and he had no choice but to let his body rest for the time being.

"Booker!" The woman quickly went to his side, kneed, and saw what was wrong with him. "Oh no, not again..." The woman somewhat knew the symptom that he was currently experiencing. She placed Anna on the table and made sure she wouldn't fall for some reason. She then went back to Booker and put her hands on his, squeezing it tightly, helping in any way she can. "Please just calm down, everything will be alright..."

Booker had to say something. She's finally here with him, but the pain didn't let him to do so. The only he can say were only a few words, not forming any sentences.

"Elizabeth..." Booker said. She paused. He knew who she was. After what they had been through. After drowning his own father, he still remembered her. There was a chance for her to start over. To begin anew in a new life filled with hope and opportunity. Her family was in front of her, she could be with them right here right now.

But this invaluable moment must come to an end. She had a job to do. She had to finish what the two of them had started. The debt had not yet been paid in full.

As Elizabeth was about to leave, Booker spoke three words that she wanted to hear so badly.

"Stay... Don't go..."

It was hard for her to leave. She had a dilemma she had to choose, a struggle between what she wanted to do and what she needed to do. Her decision will define herself in the times to come. A family member or a person who collects debts. One thing is certain though. She is a Dewitt, and Dewitts always pay their debts. Whatever the cost. She learned that from her father.

"I'm sorry, Booker..." Elizabeth stood up, her eyes red from flowing tears. "I have to go. There's something I need to do..."

"Goodbye, Booker."

Booker felt her lips on his forehead and a moment later, she was gone. He felt himself slipping from consciousness. Before he went into a deep sleep, he could sense Slate's footsteps coming towards him and another set of footsteps which were more calmer. The door slammed open and Slate came through with two people behind him. A pair of familiar twins.

"Dammit..." He then went down under.

Down under, in the darkness, Booker heard voices. Muffled voices from another place. He felt himself being treated by these people. They tried their best to stabilize him, keeping him from bleeding out. But he was focused on one thing. He had the will to live for one thing only. His daughter, or rather, daughters. It was the only thing that kept him going. He would never forgive himself if he left Anna alone with herself. Slate was a good man, but he wasn't the perfect father figure for her. There weren't many people in the world that deserved his trust. And it would be best that things stayed that way. No one would ever again interfere with the Dewitts. No one...

As he felt a renewed strength surged through his body, he saw a light, shining in the darkness. A warm and blinding light. He reached forth, and everything went white. He was still laying down on his bed, eyes still closed. He tried to move, but it seemed that his body was still recovering from the initial faint. Luckily, his sense of smell and sound still worked perfectly, only his motor controls were incapacitated. He unintentionally heard a whispered conversation between the two familiar twins he met not a long time ago. What they were conversing was more than just interesting.

"-was here?"

"Yes."

"And how would you know that?"

"Could you not sense the disturbance in the air?"

"No, I could not."

"Pity..."

"How do you sense such things?"

"As beings who have transcended beyond the mortal plane, it would be natural for other senses to be developed."

"And you have this other senses?"

"Yes."

"But why do I not have these things?"

"Like I said, brother. Pity..."

"Well then, what was her intention of being here? What would she gain out of it?"

"She missed her father, or she tried to help him to what Slate said he was experiencing..."

"A very familiar circumstance, won't you agree sister?"

"Oh please... Yours was a blood bath. This one is more of an-" She was looking for right term, "-excessive nosebleed..."

"Excessive nosebleed?! Sister, there's blood all over the floor and you call this an excessive nosebleed?!"

"Yes."

"Sister, you broke my heart..."

"Well why don't you patch yourself up then? I do think you're more than capable of doing that..."

Booker didn't understand a word they were saying, instead he tried to move himself, if only a finger would make them notice his presence. He tried to lift up a finger if any of his strength had virtually returned. He also tried saying something, a few babbled words might also do the trick.

After a few grueling moments, Booker managed to tap his fingers on the steel railing at the bottom of his bed. That caught the attention of the two twins and the seasoned veteran.

"By God, Booker... You're alive!" Slate had been sitting on the chair, wondering how Anna managed to get herself from her crib to the table. Fortunately, Anna was napping all the time everything happened. She slept through her father's treatment like a log, making no sudden movements at all.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" Robert said the obvious, "How are you feeling, Mr. Dewitt?"

Booker couldn't say a straight sentence. His throat was too dry to even blurt out anything. "Water..." Was the only thing that he could say.

"Right." Slate got up and walked over to the stove where a warm cup of water was being heated. "Here you go, Dewitt." Slate handed the cup to Booker. With enough body strength, Booker sat on his bed after lying down for awhile. He grasped the cup and drank it in a single swallow.

"Whoa, take it easy there, Corporal. That's hot water right there. It could've burned your throat out." Slate remarked Booker.

"Honestly, Slate, I don't give a damn if the water was hot or not." Booker finally said, "When a man's thirsty, he's gotta drink."

"Well now, with all that settled, I'm glad that you're fine now, Mr. Dewitt. I do think that we should be leaving, we have errands to attend to and we don't want to be late." Robert said nonchalantly.

"Wait." Booker stopped them, "How did you patch me up?"

"Oh. Well, that handy work is all thanks to my dear sister, Rosalind here."

"You knew of my sickness?" Booker asked her.

"Yes, I do. In fact, my brother was the one who had a similar case like yours."

"How did you get over it?" Booker questioned.

"Well, a soothing melody would make the mind calm. I also had my sister who had a big part to play." Robert eyed his sister which made her roll her eyes.

"So, what should I do?"

"Let yourself be calm, Mr. Dewitt. Find anything that would make yourself be calm and peaceful. That is the only advice I could give to you, Mr. Dewitt." Rosalind said regrettably.

"If I may, does this distress also provide-" Booker hesitated, "-visions?"

"What do you mean?" Robert queried.

"In the midst of the pain, I saw someone else in the room with me."

"Go on..." Rosalind said.

"There was this woman who helped me get on my bed, then she went over to the other room and held Anna on her arms. At first she was the one who as going to steal her from me. Instead, she sat on the chair and cradled her while humming an oddly familiar tune that somehow I knew. When I took a good look at her, I saw an older version of my daughter. I mean, isn't it mad? My older daughter holding her younger self in her arms? Who would see such a thing?" Booker left the question hanging, no one had the faintest idea to what he was blabbering about.

"Anyways, the pain was too great I didn't have the strength to keep myself awake. She came over to me and held my hands and told me everything would be fine. I called her name and told her in that moment of weakness that she should stay, but she said that she had to do something. She disappeared without a trace and that's when I saw the three of you barging in..."

Nobody said a word as Booker had finished his story. Slate was dumbstruck to even give a piece of his mind, whilst the twins were silent as if they had a thought process in their heads. Rosalind finally raised her voice to address the situation.

"It's not rare phenomenon for having hallucinations, or as you say visions, in these particular issue, Mr. Dewitt. Think of it as your mind trying to mend itself by providing these things to keep you calm." Rosalind deduced the issue with precision, but that didn't lift the weight on Booker's heart.

"So, what you're trying to say is that all of the things that I saw weren't real?"

"I can't say that, Mr. Dewitt. You yourself must find out. Besides, you're an investigator." A hint of grin formed on Rosalind's face, "You'll get to the bottom of that..."

"Alright. Thank you for helping me out here. I owe you two a lot..." Another debt, Booker thought.

"Please, Mr. Dewitt. It's fine. I think you've owed enough." What Rosalind said puzzled him. What did she know about debts?

"Well then, if we're all done, we must be going." Both the Luteces then proceed to made their way out.

After a brief pause, Slate commented on the two, "What an odd pair of twins..."

"Somehow I've known them long before I met them..."

"Funny, I feel the same way as well. By the by, do I get the sense that you knew these people?" Slate ask inquisitively.

"Actually, they came to my place, asking about the building." Booker gave a straightforward answer.

"Were they going to buy it?"

"Beats me..." Booker then had a thought, "How did you get them to help me?"

"Well they were on the street while I was trying to find a physician. I asked if they know any doctors around and when they ask what for, I said that it was for you." Slate explained.

"And what they came with you, instead?"

"Don't you look a gift horse in the mouth. Just feel lucky that they were able to help you out, alright?" Slate said.

"Yeah... By the by, Slate."

"Yes?"

"Thanks..."

"Your welcome, Corporal." Slate then noticed Anna waking from her deep slumber, hungry no doubt. "Ah, the little one wakes. Let me make her some milk." Anna didn't cry aloud, but she gave a few whimpering sounds, signalling what she needed.

"No, Slate let me do it. You go on ahead and rest. I want to have some quality time with my daughter." Booker got up and stretched his body. His muscles were a bit cramped after sleeping for so long.

"Well, if you insist, Corporal." Slate made his way to the bed and rest.

Booker took some time to prepare Anna's lunch. It involved fresh milk from the market and the stove for heat to killing any germs. After several minutes or so, Booker walked over to his chair and sat down with the warm bottle in his hands. He cradled Anna and gave her the milk she so desired. Anna accepted the milk instantly, drinking it rapidly like his father drank the warm cup of water. The sight itself amazed Booker. Never did he imagine his life to be this way. Serene peaceful and wholesome.

As he did this, he remembered one moment in his vision. A song that he had not yet know, but in his heart, he knew how it goes. Feeling a bit cheery, he sang what he thought was the chorus of the song.

_"Will the circle be unbroken_

_By and by, by and by?_

_There's a better home awaiting_

_In the sky, in the sky?"_


	5. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: As promised, I would upload another chapter in the same month. I hope all of you take a liking of the narrative thus far. There's some ups and downs to flesh out the practical words for the story, but I think I can manage fairly, if not barely. Since I have don't have any more words to say, please enjoy this chapter. Stay tune for a new chapter about a month from now..._

Chapter 4: DeWitt Investigations

Booker was tired. He had been working hard on what had happened once before. He could never forget the vision he had about his none-existent daughter. She was the living enigma in this whole investigation, the core of his struggles. He was invested on finding the answers behind her sudden appearance, but unfortunately it would almost be impossible to find such leads in the present. He hoped to be able to uncover the answers in the near future.

Instead, Booker focused on the many cases he had accepted by countless of clients for the past 3 weeks. After Slate moved into his office, Booker reopened his private investigator services to the public. Thus, many sought his skills and talents to solve a several minor issues. Some of them presented him with situations that needed more finesse. Although only few of the job were a touch illegitimate, Booker knew better not to turn down a lucrative opportunity. Even some of the officers of the law had to ask for Booker's expertise on one of their toughest cases, of course it all off the records. But overall, Booker was back in business and he had no trouble on continuing what he does best.

As much as Slate wanted to nose in on his business, Booker had demanded not to get his occupation get in the way of their well-being. Family came first and that's a principle that Booker wanted to uphold, after everything he had been through. He needed to have a wonderful bonding time with his daughter. That, he learned from past mistakes.

The memories of the life that once was was slowly coming back to him. Even though it was just a bunch of images or feelings that had resurfaced from a bygone time, it felt as if he was reliving his past life. A genuine deja vu experience. Fortunately, none of them caused Booker's intense nosebleed like it once happened 2 weeks after Slate decided to moved in. As miraculous as the discovery would be, Booker wouldn't talk any of it to Slate. He feared that what he was going through might shaken Slate a little, or worse, call him a mad man. He needed to be sure that he hid any sign of this upbringing for himself. Although that is the case, he still didn't know if Anna was affected in any of this at all. This conundrum is a new mystery for him, so he had to make sure to think of all the possible scenarios and how to cover them up real good.

Slate was oblivious to what Booker was hiding. He spent his days eyeing Anna whenever Booker was out doing his job. If Booker had any time to get his attention on Anna, Slate would usually went out and "entertain" himself in a number of ways. All the while, Slate had accustomed himself to the Bowery, Booker's apartment and his bed. As uncomfortable as it is, Slate had experienced more than just Booker's bed through all his life. He had way more troubling experience than just an old bed. Thankfully, he had no problem handling Anna when Booker had to run an errand. She was as calm as a toad in the sun. She didn't cry nor did she wail for her father's attention. Although Slate was confused on how this particular infant was very different than any other, he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Life seemed to be going steady, as it should be. Booker didn't need any theatrics or drama to keep him going on. He planned on moving to another place, a better one for Anna and him. He didn't want to stay in a room where he could smell the scent of alcohol and guilt. He wanted to begin anew, begin a better life with his family. If Slate wanted to stick around, it's fine by him. Besides, Booker sensed that Slate didn't have any next of kin or significant other, as if they were the only thing that came close to a family. Booker pitied on the weathered old veteran, but if Slate needed any help, Booker would answer his call. If Slate still wanted to be a part of his family, he could do nothing but accept him with open arms. After all, he still had a debt to pay.

There was another case that Booker couldn't solve at the slightest. Of course, this is about the puzzling phenomenon that is the Lutece twins. Booker did a background check on the two with the help of his "friends" from the law enforcement, and no where did he find the existence of Rosalind Lutece herself. Robert Lutece was a resident in the more privileged side of New York City, but that all changed when his Rosalind arrived. It was indicated that he left his residence to start a new one with his so-called sister. They seemed to have the capabilities of "disappear" and "reappear" from inquisitive detectives. Which was why Booker's "friends" thought it was a good idea for him to handle such inquiry, since he had a close encounter with the two. A very scandalous affair, but Booker didn't have nearly enough evidence to point them to have done anything suspicious. Yes, they have evaded police work to some extent but legally speaking, they hadn't done anything criminal. Somehow, Booker could see that there was no escaping from those two. He was, in a way, stuck with them until God knows when. It was another side project Booker had to postpone.

Anna was growing to be a healthy baby. Even though her mother was no longer living, and Booker didn't want to think any of it, her father was the only thing she can rely on. Booker took his role seriously. He separated work and family time religiously, making sure he didn't neglect his daughter for the second time. Booker always reminded himself of that. No more mistakes. Never again...

In a quiet evening, Booker was busy working on with a case he was about to finish cracking. Slate was laying on the bed, reading an article on the New York Times, enjoying all the contents of the newspaper. Anna was sleeping on her crib, dozing off with dreams that only an infant would interpret. This was the casual life of the Dewitts residence.

"Hey, Booker." Slate said out of nowhere.

"Yes?" Booker briefly replied.

"How come you never get back in the saddle?" Slate casually said as he continued reading.

"Excuse me?" Booker said in an offended tone.

"Yeah! What I meant was, why don't you go looking for other women out there?" Slate tried pressing through, catch a reaction out of him.

"Look Slate, could we please not talk about this?" Booker tried to dodge.

"Oh come on, Booker..." Slate looked over to Booker, "There's still a lot of fish in the sea. Why don't you reel one in and start something from that point forward?"

This was a topic Booker didn't want to go too deep into. He wanted to avoid such discussions so that the memories that he had back then won't come back and haunt him. There were things that happened in his last relationship. Things that he cherished. Especially the good ones that involved with his wife, Annabelle.

Her smile.

Her scent.

Her warmth.

These were the things that Booker had successfully hindered, until now. "Getting back in the saddle" as Slate had said was not an easy thing to do for a man such as Booker Dewitt. Annabelle Watson was one of the most exceptional person Booker had ever met at that time. She was able to see a person capable of loving her aside all of his guilt and mistakes. She was the only one who decided to risk her own happiness just to be happy with him. She was the perfect person for him.

The only person who was perfect.

And nothing could ever change that.

Ever...

"I don't think I have time to do that right now, Slate. I've got a lot to do and adding women into the equation won't solve any of our problems." Booker said in a serious tone.

Slate seemed to pick up on his tone, so he didn't press anything further. "Alright, Corporal. I understand your decision."

"But!" Slate added, "If you ever need to feel the comfort of a woman, not a serious relationship, I know some people who would happily assist you on your pursuit."

Booker knew what he meant. A temporary partner won't sate any of his sexual needs. Hell, he even thought if his body even wanted that kind of pleasure. He didn't have any urge to screw any woman, did he? He just didn't have the priority to do such things. It wasn't in his agenda, that's for sure.

As the two continued on doing what they did, they heard a soft knock from the door. The two turned their heads towards it, not knowing who it could be and what it could be. With his gun ready, Booker stood up from his chair and walked over towards the door quietly. Slate, on the other hand, took cover at Booker's table so that none of the unexpected guests would find any other people except Booker.

Booker, again, was not surprised at all. He had prepared a scenario similar to this. He had already discussed this with Slate, which gave him a grouchy look. Although Slate wasn't very fond with the idea, he knew he had to do so. All for their safety. With all the heat coming from Booker's police friends, the criminal organization had been trying to find unnecessary contacts and were rumored to be tying up loose ends, which made Booker a potential candidate. Booker prepared the scenario well, but he didn't know that it would be this exact moment.

He cocked his gun at the ready, waiting for any more movements from the outside. He approached the door slowly, still formulating a tactic on how to approach this situation. Booker hid his gun on his lower back, still holding it firmly, and used his other hand to unlock the door. When the knob was turned, opening the door, he saw Rosalind Lutece standing, her face filled with void and expressionless.

"Rosalind?" Booker said, surprised. " What are you doing here?"

"Mr. De-" She paused for a moment, "Booker... We are in need of your assistance." Rosalind whispered, Booker could barely hear what she said.

Booker took a few seconds scanning the hallway before letting Rosalind in and locking the door. Booker sighed and motioned Rosalind to seat on the guest chair.

"Slate, it's safe." Booker said to Slate.

"Are they gone?" Slate's head bobbed from the bottom of the table.

"It's just Rosalind, Slate. Nothing to be worried about." Booker said as he made a warm cup of tea for his unexpected guest.

"Right... Good evening, Ms. Lutece. We didn't expect you arriving in this cool night." Slate greeted her.

"I had no idea where to go except here, apparently." Rosalind acknowledged Slate and received the tea Booker just handed her.

"Well then, would you mind explain to me why you're here in this particular hour?" Booker said straight to the point. He had no time for chit-chat, especially at this night.

"As I've said, Mr. Dewitt, I am in need of your expertise. It would be wise for me to explain from the very beginning." Rosalind straightened herself before telling her story. "So, a few nights after your bloody ordeal, my brother and I encountered an unusual meeting with the... barely legal sort."

Before continuing her story, Booker signaled Slate to remove himself from the main room to Anna's room. His expression showed defiance, but Slate reluctantly went to the other room with his face showing an annoyed expression. "Please continue." Booker said to Rosalind.

"This evening, on our way home from our daily errands, we encountered a very strange man. He looked like an average businessman with an agenda on the back of his hand. He had a posse with him, showing that he had an authority over us. With the least courteous mannerism that he could muster, he spoke about his growing company and were hiring people with, and I quote, "intelligent and exceptional minds." Apparently, he knew our works, well mainly Robert's, and was very keen to hire us right on the spot. Of course, we declined his offer, stating that we're quite content with what we have right at the moment. But unfortunately, he thought differently.

"He was hell bent to procure us for "the good of the company" and "the possible fortunes that we can have" just as he had said. The man gave us an opportunity to rethink our decision and said to us that he would wait for three days for our reply. He also said that a man would receive our agreement in our doorstep, and if ever we evidently refuse this proposition, then he would send men to... "beguile" us until we couldn't refuse the offer."

"Who is this man you speak of?" Booker asked after hearing Rosalind's testimony.

"Fink... Jeremiah Fink..." Rosalind replied, his face showed signs of distress although her expression was plain.

"Fink!?" Slate's voice thundered from over the room. He forcefully opened the door with a furious set of eyes towards Rosalind.

"Slate, I thought I've made clear about things like this!" Booker was disturbed the sudden interruption, his rules over his house was clear for the both of them: No interfering of all sorts when there was a client.

"You listen here, Corporal!" Slate took a seat between Booker and Slate, "That piece of shit made a fool out of me way back when I first arrived here! Now, it would be wise for you to accept this case to help this poor lady here and get back on that sniveling excuse of a man!"

"You mean YOU'RE getting back on that sniveling excuse of a man..." Booker back talked Slate, "Slate, remember our agreement..." Booker's eyes stared right through Slate's, rivaling his death stare.

"Before there's any bloodshed, it would be wise for you to act gentlemanly in this situation-" Rosalind said calmly despite the growing tense in the room.

"Fine..." Slate conceded and was going to leave the two, but Rosalind had other plans.

"-and I would also like to take up on Mr. Slate's services, Mr. Dewitt..." Rosalind demanded.

"Why do you need him? Besides, he doesn't have any form of legitimacy of being a private investigator." Booker tried his best to make Slate stay away from this kind of business, but it would seem fate did not favor him.

"I do think it would be best if you could obtain all the help you can get, Mr. Dewitt." Rosalind said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, Corporal, Fink is a hard man to get to. He will have trained and professional guards to protect him at all cost. By the way Fink spoke to Ms. Rosalind, he's a man who wouldn't mind sacrificing a few good men for his own sake. Which is why you need my help to settle this matter." Feeling a little bit more confident, Slate gave his view to the two.

At this point, Booker didn't have any choice left. When Slate is determined on doing something, you can't hold the storm of his stubbornness back. It might be a good thing having someone to watch your back, especially if that someone was a captain of the cavalry.

After careful consideration, Booker accepted the situation and went along with it. "Tell me your encounter, Slate..."

"You see, that same day before you let me in your home, I was looking for some-" A few silent seconds passed, "-entertainment! Yes, that's the word. I was looking something to entertain myself before renting a room at a trustworthy establishment. I found myself walking to a bar where a questionable ongoing gambling event occurred. I, of course, partook in this little game of chance to see if luck was on my side that day. Unfortunately for me, luck was not on my side. I could even say that luck wasn't there at all!

"One man had been very lucky that night and that man was..."

"Let me guess, Jeremiah Fink?" Booker interrupted.

"Well... Quite close. It was his brother, Albert Fink."

"Wait, so you're saying to me that this Fink fellow has a brother named Albert?" Booker tried to keep this information as clearly as possible.

"Yes, I remember there was talk of a rising musical composer who just so happened to be Jeremiah Fink's brother. No doubt the two correlate with their own businesses at times..." Rosalind said.

"Slate, please continue..." Booker offered.

"Well, I have thought that the entire game was compromised. Naturally, I complained about it to the man in charge, saying that there was something particularly wrong with the table. He gave a huge grin and said in a low but maniacal voice that there was nothing wrong with any of it. When I tried to give him a piece of my mind two burly man walk up behind me. I had no idea that the man I was speaking to was Jeremiah Fink himself. That bastard set the whole thing up to please his brother. In the end they threw me out, leaving me with empty pockets and a penniless wallet.

"Just to remove myself from my sorrow, I came by to see how you were doing. And then... Well, you know the rest, Corporal." Booker didn't know that Slate was in a bad shape when he visited him. This was a new information to him, one which he wanted to know more about.

"So, when you visited me that day, you actually had no where else to go?" Slate nodded at the statement, "Why didn't you tell me at the first place? It would be a lot more simpler for you to do so?"

"Well, I was embarrassed. An old man like me couldn't afford a place to stay? That'll be the talk of the town if I know. That would also besmirched my reputation among my peers, Booker. Damn, saying that out loud embarrasses me even more. Not to mention, Lady Lutece is hearing all these things from my lips..." Slate bent his head down, covering his face with the palm of his hand.

"Honestly, Mr. Slate, I don't give a damn about gossip and other similar nonsense. So, you need not to worry about anything coming out of my mouth about you." Rosalind sounded resolute.

"I'm relieved to hear that, Lady Lutece. I thank you for that..." Slate relaxed after hearing Rosalind's statement, knowing his embarrassing story wouldn't spread like wildfire.

"Tell me, Ms. Lutece." Booker paused for a moment, "Why should I solve your predicament?"

"Beg your pardon?" Rosalind replied.

"You heard me. Why should I go all the trouble to make an example to a man such as Fink for your sake? He's a very resourceful man with many assets at his disposal to do what he can and wants to do. He could do anything and take anything he wants. He has that kind of power and threatening a man of that stature is a very foolish thing to do. I must admit, Fink is the only person who could probably cover his tracks to save his own skin, at the expense of a few good men. Hell, he could more likely bribe me to do what he wants." Booker said, showing how dangerous this could be.

"So, I ask you once again...

"Why..."

The room felt quiet as Booker asked this simple yet difficult question. Why should he help her? What good would that do if only it was a one sided victory. Yes, the pay might be surprisingly good, but the work that must be done was demanding. Of course Booker, with all the power that he can muster, could finish the job in only a few days, but he had to listen to the reason behind this matter. Why did Rosalind picked him above all the people in New York City? Hell, why pick a young man in the Bowery? It was no neighborhood fit for her stature.

Rosalind was searching for an answer that would fit for his question. She perfectly knew why she picked him. He was the closest thing to a friend. Someone who has been through a lot because of her fault, even though he didn't have any crucial memory of all that has happened. He'd been through hell and back, and she knew he was right for the job. She knew what he was capable of and she knew what he needed to keep his family going. This was more of a charity than an actual plead for help in her perception. Booker needed the money, Rosalind provided the cash as long as there's a job involved so he wouldn't find her suspicious. After all, Booker was alive because of Anna and Anna alone. Which gave her a very excellent answer.

"You need to do this job because of your daughter." Rosalind plainly said without any emotion behind her voice.

"Excuse me?" Booker's fingers tightened at his wooden armchair, his anger slowly boiled over by the mere mention of his Anna.

"You clearly heard me, Mr. Dewitt. You need to do this job for the sake of your daughter." Rosalind could see the contorted expression on Booker's face. "Understand Mr. Dewitt, that I'm not threatening any of your family's life for I'm not that capable of such deviant acts. I am merely stating a fact.

"I am not like Fink and the rest of his goons, and I think it is better that you accept my offer rather than his." Rosalind continued, "Fink will make you bleed to death if you took his proposal and do his own bidding. Thus in the process, your daughter would be, yet again, forgotten..."

Booker realized the truth of her statement. He was overreacting. Clearly she knew what she was saying without any other meaning inside her words. Fink is a terrible man and if he accepted Fink's bribe, Fink would suck the hell out of Booker just for his own sake. Yes, at first her words might be void of emotion, but still it a fact. Booker needed this job to keep him going, but like he once said, no other job would get in the way of his family's well being. He needed to provide for Slate and Anna. He could say Slate is a secondary but his priority is Anna. After all, it was all for Anna...

"How much are you willing to give me for this job?" Booker said straight forward.

"How about you pick the number?" Booker couldn't believe his ears, neither did Slate.

"What?" Booker said, thinking he must have heard it wrong.

"Pick a number, Mr. Dewitt. I'm more than happy to give you any amount of number as you finish the job." Rosalind said plainly.

"Ms. Lutece..." With the surprise on his voice, Booker had a hard time collecting the proper words. "Are you sure that you're willing to give away that chance to us?" The tension in his voice was evident.

"Booker..." Rosalind calmly said, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "Robert and I are content with what we have and money isn't a problem for the both of us, that's for sure. In turn, I will make sure Fink has no advantage over me." Booker saw it in her eyes that she spoke the truth. She had no remorse on giving any amount of money to him. It was best to accept the way things were.

"Then let me say, Lady Lutece, that we cannot thank you enough for this privilege." Slate said, representing Booker's voice of gratitude. "We will make sure that we will get the job done..." As he said so, Slate eyed to Booker and he nodded back at him.

"Right, I guess with that out of the way, I'd say the best thing to do is to investigate this so called bar you mention, Slate. That establishment is our primary lead on finding Fink's whereabouts. Then, if there's no lead in there, we could go after Albert, question his brother's usual hot spots." Booker changed the topic of the conversation by forming the simplest of plans to find Fink in the back of his mind. He already knew searching a person such as Jeremiah Fink would be difficult, but no case had ever stopped him on his tracks.

"A very decisive plan, Mr. Dewitt. My brother and I would be most pleased." Rosalind openly complimented Booker's resolve.

"Speaking of him, where is your brother?" Booker asked her absent brother. He thought the two were always stuck together like two peas in a pod.

"Unfortunately, Robert has his own errands to run. Not to worry though, he won't be long before he joins our little meeting." Rosalind sounded plainly confident of her brother's participation.

"How do you know, if I might ask, Lady Lutece..." Slate asked her, a shroud of doubt still on his mind.

"You just need a little bit of faith, Mr. Slate." As Rosalind spoke, a few short knocks hit the door. Slate and Booker did not believe the sudden appearance of this Robert fellow. It was as if they had a psychic ability of some sorts. Perhaps because of their twin origins, the two had an intuition for these things or something similar.

Booker opened the door to the room to see Robert standing in the entrance. "Well, I do hope all of you would forgive me for my late arrival..." Since there were no longer available chairs, Robert stood behind his sister, his hand rested on Rosalind's shoulder.

"Speak of the devil!" Slate proclaimed, "We were just talking about you before you miraculously came in."

"Oh were you?" Robert eyed his sister which she replied with a nod. "I hope you weren't talking something awful about me..."

"No, we were discussing our plan about finding further information about the Fink fellow. We've made a lay out of the plan. I would need to discuss with Slate about the details." Booker said.

"Well, then it would be best for us to leave, brother..." Rosalind said, standing up from the guest chair.

"So soon, sister? After all, I just arrived not a few seconds ago..." Robert lightly protested.

"Oh, it's your own fault that it took too long for you to get here. I bid you farewell and success for your endeavors, Mr. Dewitt and Mr. Slate..." With that the twins took their leave and exited from the room with their arms crossed together.

"Booker, I must admit..."

"What, Slate?"

"I really feel as though I've met them a very long time ago." Slate said in amazement, "I could sense their strangeness have crossed paths with me once before."

"Me too, Slate. Me too..."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Calm Before The Storm

Booker and Slate began their investigation on the Fink brothers, both Albert and Jeremiah Fink. After careful preparation, it was best for the both of them to start on the first place that attracted their interest.

One thing that worried Booker the most was that of his daughter, Anna. Who would take care of her when he was away, bringing Slate with him? Surely, he couldn't leave her alone as he went and do his job. The only person he trusted was only Slate, and perhaps the Lutece, but their too a weird bunch for him to trust.

Booker thought of this as he and Slate were readying themselves for their upcoming escapades. Slate saw the wrinkled expression on his face and asked him of his troubling thought.

"What's on your mind, Corporal? You look like our Lord Himself when He was praying in Gethsemane." Slate asked, joking as he did it.

"I don't know who would take care of Anna when we're gone doing our work. There's no one else I can trust except the people in this room..." Booker said honestly.

"Well, why don't you ask the Luteces then? Although the two are an interesting duo, it would be wise to ask them for help..." Slate offered, the idea was tempting but Booker didn't have enough trust of the two.

"As much as that that sounds great, I wouldn't put my life in front of them, frankly speaking. I don't trust them enough. They seem a bit too odd for my taste. Afterall, they are my clients..." Booker still had his doubts clouding his decision, but he perfectly knew the Luteces were the most trustful people next to Slate. Even though he saw them as a last resort.

"In that case, why don't we just meet them then? Tell them to take care of the little thing until we finish the case. Afterall, we're finishing their mess and I think it's fair that they take care of ours..." Slate gave his opinion, but his last sentence left a bad aftertaste for him.

"Our mess?" Booker quoted Slate's words, his eyes bored deep into Slate's.

"You know what I mean..." Booker dropped the conversation as Slate's guilt overcame himself.

"Right..." Booker sighed after hearing Slate's comment, "For what it's worth, I guess letting the Luteces watch over Anna isn't a bad taste of judgement. Although that is the case, I still worry of the ordeals that may follow..." Booker said, still doubting if his decision was a good one.

"Oh, it'll be alright, Corporal. Besides, it won't take a day to snoop around the place, now would it?" Slate said with confidence, but Booker knew otherwise.

"Sure, Slate. Let's just hope you're right about that..." Booker said, his sarcasm was hidden enough that Slate didn't notice.

Luckily, Booker did a background check on the two peculiar scientists which lead him to a small farm house near the city's outskirts. It was a small yet functional two-story house with a big space fit enough for a whole family to live in. But the Luteces had other ideas in their peculiar minds, so instead they turned the family-friendly abode to an experiment zone fit for their scientific curiosity. But all in all, the house is their safe haven which the two used as their home and laboratory. For Booker, it might be a potential hideout.

"Alright, so l would be going to the Luteces and ask them to take care of Anna. In the mean time, could you find us some reliable arsenal?" Booker asked, doubting his lone pistol would do the job well.

"What's wrong with yours?" Slate asked questioningly.

"It would seem after a span of time, my pistol isn't as reliable as it used to be. Sure it still has a kick, but it has aged terribly." Booker played with the handle of his gun, inspecting its shape, weighting its heft. The gun sure has seen its share of battles, and it looks like it needed to be put away.

"I have a friend of a friend that I could get in contact with for the thing that you need." Slate said before asking, "Do you have any particular gun that you'd like?"

"Something that packs a punch..." Booker described simply.

"A shotgun it is then..." Slate understood his message.

The two then went their separate ways, each completing their own set of missions before heading towards their main goal. Slate went downtown, where he would meet up with his contact whilst Booker took the tram so that he could get far enough so that he can continue to walk towards the Luteces house. At first, he argued with how things should have went to himself, but seeing little Anna in his arms made him think otherwise.

Of course, this is all for Anna. The things he did whether it was right by him or not, it was all for Anna. Booker hoped that in the years to come, Anna could understand what he had to do to keep their family going. Especially if there was Grandfather Slate in the picture. That would make things more complicated to some extent. But nonetheless, things has changed ever since that he woke up that day. He still didn't know why he had the sensation of drowning in his sleep. It might've been a weird dream if he could guess.

Still, that is a case for another time. Booker had to focus on the more important things at hand, which was literally his own daughter sleeping in his arms. Inside, there were too many people to comfortably fit in, so Booker had to make his way past the numerous people and find a seat. Booker got on the trolley and tried to find an empty seat. He tightened his grip on her, making sure that he would never let her go. He reminded himself of that everyday since he woke up from his vivid slumber.

After a brief look around, Booker didn't find any empty seat for the two of them. Booker was then forced to stand and look over his daughter as the trolley was driven through the streets. He hadn't forgot to bring a bag containing Anna's needs, should the Luteces needed anything to take care of Anna. A very useful supply should he let Anna be taken care of while he does his job. One thing that still bothered him a plenty was that of the vision he saw when he was bleeding through his nostrils. His mind couldn't make sense of it. Of how Elizabeth, of all the people he knew even though this one in particular shouldn't have existed, was there in his office. That thought alone weighted heavily on the back of his conscious mind. The Luteces might have the answers he seek, but that was for another time. Perhaps after clearing up their mess, he would have the time to discuss with them.

A few minutes after, Booker found himself walking on a dirt road. He couldn't believe how absurdly far was their place. It was already 11 o'clock, and that didn't actually sit well with him. He felt himself getting tired already and he would be blaming the Luteces for this mistreatment. After a few minutes of walking, he finally saw the house. It was surrounded by trees in the back and a strong-looking picket fence by the front. It had quite a spacious front lawn and a shed on the side. It looked quite good by Booker's standard. He hoped that he could have a house like this in the future, for Anna and himself. Maybe, Slate could come over and stay to. Then if only it were possible, Elizabeth could stay with them. If only...

Booker walked over through the picket gate and slowly head to the front door. The gravel on his shoes crackled together and the wind felt quite nice.

"One day, Anna." He said to her as she slept, "One day..."

Before Booker could even knock on the door, it suddenly opened by itself and Rosalind was there to greet him.

"Mr. Dewitt!" She said acting surprised, "What brings you here?" She asked but her face had an annoyed look even though it was expressionless. One thing that made her look different was that of her long sleeved shirt was rolled up and her hands were covered with black oil.

"I was wondering if you could let Anna stay here, just for awhile?" Booker asked pleadingly. Rosalind didn't respond to his question, instead she observed closely at Anna, looking at her sleeping peacefully on Booker's arms.

"How long?" Rosalind asked.

"I don't know for how long. But, could you please look after her while Slate and I do the job?" Booker said, "Please..."

Rosalind looked to be have been thinking for a short while. She sighed then said, "Very well then..." Rosalind stepped aside and let Booker enter the house. Inside, Booker saw the grand decorations that filled the Luteces house. He felt as if he was going to a place of royalty, rather than an abode of scientists. Booker had never thought that the Luteces were this fancy to begin with. Yes, their mannerism mimiced that of the high class, but he always thought of them as mere pretenders, considering their scientific status. They might've come from royalty if one could imagine, or that their parents had a bountiful will to them.

Before Booker could stray further from his primary goal, he decided to question the elephant in the room, "What were the two of you doing?"

"If you must know, we are in the verge of discovering a scientific breakthrough worthy of a public recognition. We have put countless of hours on perfecting this machine of ours and I'm absolutely sure that we will grasp the attention of many intellectual minds. Although I have my doubts that such people are not competent enough to understand the value given for our time effort, my brother had the optimism to almost make me change my perception of things..."

"Well you were always the pessimist..." Robert appeared out of the living room, which they have turned into a laboratory as well.

"Realist to be more precise, and sometimes I'd think of you as a waterless cloud..."

"A waterless cloud? What does that supposed to mean?"

"I see you hadn't had the privilege to be lectured about the bible..."

"Well, I was always distracted by trivial matters, like physics for example..."

As they continue to bicker with one another, something caught his eye within the living room. He saw a large device that he thought he's never seen before. He just noticed that the room was bigger than he first thought and that the device was two-story high. It was made out of metals, cables, and electric conductors. There was a space in the middle of it, where one could stand under. Why they build this, he wouldn't know. His mind couldn't fathom how complex this device could have been. He was sure that somewhere, maybe once in another time, he knew the properties that this machine has.

It was a machine capable to transcend world, realities even lives. It was the alternate genesis device. The ability to project and alter worlds...

"Well it would seem that Booker has taken interest to our device, brother..."

"Yes, well, he might not be just have an average mind after all, sister..."

"What is this thing?" Booker asked, still marveling at the Luteces' creation.

"That, Mr. Dewitt-" The brother said.

"-is one of our finest creations..." The sister continued.

"We call it the Lutece Device-"

"-a machine capable of altering atoms to a certain point..."

"Alas, we have not yet master the device's capabilities."

"We are still trying to solve the equation to our problem."

"Perhaps, with your help we might uncover the right answers..."

"Or perhaps uncover more questions..."

"Why spoil the moment, sister?"

"Why the sudden disappointment, brother?"

"I'm sorry, but I think we're being quite rude to our guest..." Robert said, ending the debate. "Maybe some refreshments are in order?"

"Yes, perhaps something to drink would make our guest feel a lot better..." Rosalind said, sarcasm hiding behind the lines.

"A cup of tea-"

"-or a cup of coffee?"

"Or perhaps tea?"

"Nothing beats coffee..."

Booker had no time left to hear their rambling any further, "If you would accept the offer, I would be in gratitude with the two of you."

"What is he talking about, sister?"

"He wants us to take care of his daughter while he and Slate solve our problem."

"Oh, I remember the last time we had to deal with babies..."

"Well last time isn't now, so this would be a better chance for you to make amends..."

"Well?" Booker intervened before the siblings could begin to bicker more.

"Very well, I'd willingly take the responsibility." Robert received Anna from Booker's hands, but somehow deep down he didn't like doing that gesture at all. As if it didn't fit right with his consciousness.

Anna was calm all the time since Booker went inside the house. She had been this way since the beginning. She was always calm, always content, always at peace. It was a rare moment to see Anna cry. It would be either when she was hungry or when she needed to take a little tinkle. Other than that, Anna was always calm.

"Right, I need go right away. Everything you need is in this bag. It's all sorted should Anna need anything." Booker put his bag on one of their chairs. "I guess that's it. I'll be going now. Just..." He hesitated for a second, "Take care of her proper..."

"We'll do as you wish, Mr. Dewitt. You could count on us." Robert's words left a bad taste on Booker, but they were the only people who were available and can be trusted.

"Thank you for taking care of Anna. I appreciate it..." Booker sincerely said behind his gruff voice.

"Well, just see this as our debt to pay, Mr. Dewitt. Of course, we won't forget to pay for your efforts..." Robert said, his sister silently agreed.

"Well, once again, thank you." Booker opened the door and closed it behind him.

As he walked down through the front lawn, he looked back at the house and saw it in its entirety. It was really something. It looked perfect for a place for Booker and Anna. It was in the middle of nowhere, out on the city where its all calm and there's no noise from the city. No one would bother them anymore and they'll be living in a place where it will be peaceful bliss. It was high time for Booker to consider to buy a new house. But in the current economy, it would take more than 5 years with his wage to buy a house this grand. Booker hoped that his hard work would pay off in the foreseeable future. It won't be bad to move all his belongings to a new house, he'd need to adapt first, but beyond that it would be peaceful living all around.

Booker reached the end of the lawn and went through the small wooden gate. As he was about to close it, he took a last glance at the house and suddenly saw something out of the ordinary. He looked carefully on the second floor and there was a window with a half opened curtain and someone standing. There, he noticed a silhouette of a girl peeking at him. Knowing that she had been spotted, she quickly hid herself from Booker's view, now concealed by the darkness of the room. Seeing this, Booker stood still and kept his eyes on the window. He had thought that he saw what seemed to be Elizabeth. But that couldn't be, could it? Wasn't it all in his head? All the visions he had and the hallucinations that Booker's been seeing all this time? The questions inside his head made a painful sensation forcing him to get away from the house.

He walked back to the city with the pain residue still in the back of his hand. He distracted himself with the plan he had made with Slate. He hoped that it would go accordingly as they have thought for it to be. A distraction there, slipping through prying eyes, getting information from the right place. They would get a clue to Fink's hideout.

Then there's the brother. A very talented musician, but has a terrible past of plagiarism. That would be the next step to reaching the main goal. Hurting Fink's plans from the ground up. Neutralizing any of his schemes of all sorts. Making sure that Fink wouldn't have any breathing room to plan his agenda any further. Thus, making him incapable of threatening any potential "victims" in the near future.

Booker guessed that's what the plan should be. At least on the surface. Any other plans should be improvised as he worked on the case. Slate would be helpful, to some extent. He's a surprise factor that Booker hadn't thought of. But he would fit in on one of the plans, nonetheless. It wasn't a hard case to crack to know Slate's usefulness. Slate would be the perfect distraction to a difficult investigation like if there were any unwanted guests. The extra gun was also a blessing in disguise. After all, Slate's a handy veteran with all his experience in the front lines.

Booker couldn't help but worry with what will happen. This wasn't his average detective work. No, this was much bigger. This is almost as big as bringing an organization down to the ground. Which meant he would do something that the Pinkerton wouldn't. Something that no one would ever thought to do. And the thought of it made Booker smile.

He found himself grinning ear to ear.

It was a good Friday...


End file.
